عَلامَ تَقولُ السَّيفُ يُثقلُ عاتِقي

عَلامَ تَقولُ السَّيفُ يُثقلُ عاتِقي

إِذا قادَني وَسطَ الرِفاقِ المُجَحدَلُ

إِذا قادَني وَسطَ الرِفاقِ المُجَحدَلُ

Why do you say the sword weighs down my shoulder,

Wherefore doth the sword weigh heavy on my shoulder,

when the thickset man led me amid the companions?

When amidst false friends it leads me on;

فَلَولا ذُبابُ السَّيفِ ظَلَّ يَقودُني

فَلَولا ذُبابُ السَّيفِ ظَلَّ يَقودُني

بِنِسعَتِهِ شثنُ البَنانِ حَزَنبَلُ

بِنِسعَتِهِ شثنُ البَنانِ حَزَنبَلُ

But for the sword’s point, he would have kept leading me,

But for the sword's bright glimmer I had wandered,

by his leather strap—that thick-fingered, short, potbellied man.

Led by its dazzle into sorrow's grasp.